10,000 AD
by Elliot Pole
Summary: Our descendants live in fear of the stinger, and worse, the dragon.  But one of them, Brangdon, discovers what its like to being in love.  Cupid is behind it, and due to his insubordination, Zeus seks revenge.  The fate of Mount Olympus is ambiguous.
1. Forgotten Passion

**10,000 Anno Domini**

**Chapter One**

"Simanjou, will you go check the sky to make sure Killsfrons is not coming?"

A boy wearing a burlap sack obeyed his father. He straddled over to the window, and stared up at the racing Heavens. The world was sure to end sometime soon—clouds and dust from Mount Olympus have been rolling for twelve years. "I don't see any sign of the dragon," he called back. "But I do see a stinger."

"A stinger? Come back, before it sees you!"

But it was too late. As the boy retreated, two hirsute legs reached forward and severed his head from his body, letting the letter fall into a bloody heap. A giant bumblebee chomped down on its prize, smiled sardonically at the man whose child it had killed, and flew off into the night.

"Why did we ever allow the insects to eat charcoal? I curse my great-great-great-great-great I-lost-track-of-how many-times-he-was-great, grandfather."

"Well, the good news is, no Killsfrons!" his wife, Hitty said complacently.

"Now we're going to have to move again."

"Why must we always go somewhere else every time one of our children is dead?"

"Because I'm the master of this family, and Mallinor is all we have left. If she dies, I swear I'm throwing myself in the river."

"You don't mean that, Yhiberti."

"I do mean it! That girl is my only sustenance left, and if a stinger takes her too, I have nothing to live for."

"She's four years old, and you're nothing but a ragamuffin merchant. What are you going to do? Beg Zeus to have mercy on your daughter? I'd like to see the great god succumb to such pleas."

"I'll climb up the social ladder, and make things better for her. She'll marry a prince, or a gunberg, an earl or a duke. She'll not have to scrimp and save like I had to my whole life!"

"Dreams, Yhiberti. You'll never get anywhere, unless you act."

"Which is precisely what I'm going to do. I make this vow, Hitty, that when the new century rolls in, any nobleman will squall down on his hands and knees and beg me to permit him to marry my daughter." He laughs villainously. "And I'll be the one to kick scoundrels in the streets. We're going to be like Croesus with riches galore, and Mallinor will be the happiest girl alive."

"Dreams, dreams," said Hitty.

Thirteen years later, a bright star shone forth over the city of Almherst, smack dab in the center of the Western Hemisphere. It was night, and few certs were lit.

A boy was rummaging in a hayloft for some lost treasure. The first thing he found was an ancient photograph of a beautiful teenage girl, with long, plaited black hair and poignant blue eyes. It had been one of his ancestor's concubines. At the bottom of the picture was the single word, "PULCHRITUDE."

The next thing he found was a red tennis ball, but he did not recognize it as such. Children had stopped playing with balls some two thousand years beforehand.

Lastly, he found a golden bow, along with thirty arrows. He could not wait to practice archery, which had come back in fashion around 9330. Guerilla warfare, machine guns, cybernetic lasers…they were all things of the past. Even the poniard was no longer extant. Arrows were the chosen weapons of a warrior, for they were clean and fair, and did not require ammunition.

Something prodded the boy to set the bow down and look at the picture again. It would have to be burned tonight, as followed the custom. All photographs of non-living persons were considered to be images of witches. That the common person owned a Polariod or a Kodak in the late twentieth century never crossed their minds; only sheer magic could turn out such a likeness.

Strange to say, they never connected portraiture done in oils to be wicked. They saw these as painstaking work of the artist, who sold such pictures for a living and had to be commissioned. An ordinary photograph, however, took a mere instant to capture a moment in time which could never physically be revisited. Therefore, they had to be evil.

Staring at the girl, he suddenly felt a prick in his hip. It was like a piercing arrow, cutting deep into his flesh. He lifted up his shirt—a muddy, tatterdemalion thing—and stared at his chest. His heart was bright purple, and he could see it through his ribs and skin. He turned back to the photograph. Inside him, he felt an unknown emotion surging. It was like being whipped by a whirlwind along the sea. He desired to vomit.

Lifting his face, he gazed about the hayloft, and the sickening feeling abated. But he had an inclination to turn again to the picture. The symptoms returned. He was falling as if from a tower; would he ever hit rock-bottom? Or was this a never-ending tunnel, that would keep him in motion forever? Wait, wasn't he on a solid floor? Then how come...? He averted his gaze, and felt a tad better, although sweating now. He was experiencing something that had been absent from the human race for three thousand years. He was in love.

At once, he made a decision. He would not burn that picture. It made him ill, but it was pleasant. If only he could meet her in real life, to coddle and obey her, create a world for her, buy her a poodle (the most popular dog among women), take her to the Stowecert.

But this was all fantasy. This girl was dead. He turned over the portrait and saw a date engraved on the back of the frame. 17 July MMVII. She had been about his age in 2007, and she probably lived a long, full life. Well, full for her would've been around eighty years. People from his generation were lucky to live past fifty.

But there had been lovers of dead people for the longest time. He remembered hearing a story about a nineteenth century man who had fallen head over heels for Sappho, and no matter how many times others tried to dissuade him with arguments (she was a lesbian, a Greek, he needed to love a contemporary), he would not listen. And there were men in the early twenty-first century who praised Sylvia Plath above all other women, not caring that she had killed herself at thirty. They would've rescued her if they had been present at that time.

It is important to note that he did not recognize this as love at first. "Love" as a concept was as mythological as "Hope" and "Worry." Santa Claus and his forty reindeer was more believable than the revival of the most powerful emotion in existence. Love was the stuff of fiction, of dreams, and everyone knew the common maxim about dreams. "A man needs to believe in a dream as much as an elephant needs to believe that it can love mice."

The boy put the photo in his scab bag, which was filled to the brim with berries. It was fortunate that the picture had a glass covering and was in a frame—otherwise it would have been ruined. He then slung the new bow over his shoulder, and nearly toppled to the ground. Next he grabbed the four arrows and carried them in his left arm, for the bag had no more room.

He arrived at town four days later. The mayor's daughter was going to have her "coming out" in celebration of her eighteenth birthday. If the boy had arrived any day later, he would've been ostracized from the city.

_What do I care about the mayor's daughter?, _a wayward thought. _She's not the girl in the witch-picture. Oh, if only I had lived in that time! Eight thousand years separate us; if only I could bridge that gap!_

It is worth mentioning that time travel was not a subject of the lore in 10,000 A.D. If it had been, the boy's mind would've rushed to that quarter. He believed he was naturally a scientist, and if anyone could create the impossible, he was capable of doing so. So every youth was convinced from birth. The Raymond-Gurges tapes were commonly used to inculcate value systems in young children. It bounced radio waves off of the trunks of pine trees—the only botanical specimen that could be seen anywhere around the city of Niast. While the kids were sleeping, they heard different messages depending on their gender, which had something to do with auricle evolution. Girls' ears were now hypersensitive to high-pitched sounds, and the highest pitching noise drowned out everything else. Boys still retained the ear functionability humans had exhibited since Adam's day. It was the male group who were constantly drilled with the following, "I am a great scientist, the greatest that ever lived. My abilities are unlimited. They are all natural. Zeus made me strong of mind, Ares nimble of thumb. I will master the arrow, and all will pale in comparison to my skill, and envy me for my prowess."

Truthfully, science is a very limited subject in this time. There are very few who can correctly put in order Kingdom Phylum Class Order Family Genus Species. No one remembers that King Phillip came over for green salami. I doubt a handful of Niast citizens could give you even a rudimentary overview of the relationship between carbon dioxide and oxygen. The only science that was given much credit was zoology, for animals were as intriguing as ever, perhaps even more so since so many had become extinct. The last African elephant perished somewhere around 7000 A.D. However, a parrot elephant hybrid did emerge. They were half the size of a normal elephant, very colorful, and actually had a beak over their trunks. What the purpose of the beak was, nobody knew. There were specialized Zoocerts dedicated to the study of Past, Present, and Future animals, which was the only system that still used those three words.

The boy was conducted to the Govercert's Ballroom by a three-foot robot with one wheel for propulsion instead of legs. It tended to move faster than him, but it always stopped one-hundred meters in front to permit him time to catch up.

He was shocked by the dazzling light. The Govercert was the only building that still had electricity. Others had reverted back to candles, tapers, and oil lamps, for the middle class. Of course, solar power was common, but it did not have the same sparkle as electricity. To see things so well lit at night was always alarming.

Led to a table of varying beverages, he picked up a glass of liquid that looked like Pepto Bismol died green. But before he could bring his drink to his lips, the mayor stood up on a platform and made an announcement.

"Welcome all, to this celebration in the year 10,000 A.D. We made it somehow, and there is no question that we are better off than our forefathers. Well, our stingers are 7000 times the size of theirs. And we are constantly under threat of the dragon. But we are alive, and they are buried. It doesn't take two and two to figure out who has the greater fortune. Tonight is a mark of a new beginning. My daughter, Mallinor, makes her debut. I advise you people to wear sunshades, for her beauty is so scintillating it's blinding."

Many men scoffed at this assumption. The mayor's wife, Hitty, was no beauty. She had most likely been a beggar maid in her youth. Her manners were most contemptible. Slurping was the least of her iniquities; she had no qualms about sitting on her husband's papers, which she said was a way of warming them up. If Mallinor was anything like her mother…well, let's just hope that the pear rolls _far, far away _from the tree.

The boy did not care to see Mallinor. He wanted his girl, the one in the picture. Removing it from his scab bag and rubbing away the berry juice with his shirt, he suddenly felt an irresistible urge to kiss his queen on the lips. He did so. It was a good thing nobody was watching, for he would've been branded as a wizard and condemned to fire if he had been observed. But all eyes were riveted to the front of the room, where Mallinor was entering.

He heard people swooning and braying all about him. Wondering what the big deal was, he lowered the picture. And the boy gasped. For Mallinor was the spitting image of the girl in his photograph, from her plaited black hair to her shining cheekbones to her slender neck, and even right down to her slender body. But the boy knew that it was not carnal pleasure that he derived from staring at her, but something deeper. Still as yet, he did not know it was love. The other buffoons in the room were imagining using Mallinor without any regards to marrying her. If she had only been a prostitute! On the other hand, that was unnecessary, for young girls were generally light-headed. It was part of their Raymond-Gurges education. All the men had to do was manipulate her the way they had other women, not thinking of morals or decency. Who would want to be tied down to a girl for the rest of their lives? Even one as beautiful as Mallinor. If anything, _that_ was immoral. To sacrifice freedom and deny pleasure to your fellow men? That is a form of selfishness, which is odious and abominable.

Mallinor was greeting individuals as she passed them. She came to our hero, extending her hand. He was stabilized by the large grin on her face.

"Hello, I'm Mallinor," she said.

The boy almost couldn't find his voice. Thinking he was mute, she turned away. "Wait! I'm Brangdon."

"Brangdon? That sounds like the name of a jar, or a parson. I'm not allowed to associate with churchpeople."

He watched her retreating back with fury. A parson? Never in his life would he enter the ministry, preaching about the mercilessness of Zeus and the rascality of Poseidon. They were just a bunch of fools, the whole lot of them! The only god deserving of any admiration was Hades, a just deity who was capable of luring Persephone down to his chambers. If he had an Underworld and could lure Mallinor down there…

Brangdon made a plan. He would win her for his wife, if he had to slave for fourteen years, like Jacob. He alone was worthy. No human being that had ever lived could have loved his Mallinor this much. Pulling out the photograph again, he turned it on the backside. It should not read "17 July MMVII" but "2 January 10,000." Then he flipped it over. Pulchritude was his Mallinor, his strength. He would keep this photo near him always, as a promise that he would work for her hand.

Brangdon composed the following letter:

_Dear Mayor Yhiberti,_

_There is an important business I have to impart to you. Speaking man to man, have you ever seen Aphrodite in mortal form? I believe I have, and I am willing to do anything to win her. She is the queen of beauty, the star of my life, Helios of my days. You alone hold it in your power to influence her marital decisions, and I hope I am a viable candidate._

_I realize that I am only a country bumpkin, and my aspirations may be too high. Still, unless you have felt empty, as if there were a part of you that could only be filled with a female companion, you will not comprehend my yearning. Yet it exists, as the pine trees and the stingers and dragons exist. I need her as a sailing ship needs wind. I am stalemated now, in the doldrums, and until you can persuade my girl _–Brandgon was so bold as to claim he owned her—_I shall be forlorn. Whatever she demands, I will give, if I have to hunt for the golden fleece itself. _

_I have delayed long enough to mention the name of my sweet. It is Mallinor, your daughter, whom I met at her coming-out. She was most amorous of me—we hit it off from the start. It is impossible to perceive which of us is more in love with the other, if we are together. And absolutely nothing will separate us, not wind nor rain nor sleet nor snow. Not even your objection. We have discussed it thoroughly. If you refuse, we shall elope. Try to dissuade her if you can; but rest assured, we shall be wed before her nineteenth birthday. _

_Hope this wasn't too much of a shocker,_

**Brangdon**

He had learnt that what he felt was love, in the month since he had acquired the picture. The reason for his lies is that he felt that is was more probable that the mayor would pay heed to his wishes if he thought there was already something afoot. This was detrimental to his cause, however, for truthfully he did need the mayor to persuade Mallinor.

Yhiberti was indignant after reading the letter. When he had asked his daughter if she met anyone desirable at the coming-out, she had said, "They were all insipid, daddy." She had lied and she would be punished. But not until her beau was taken care of; there would be no eloping as long as he had anything to say about it.

Thus it happens that one day, Brangdon was practicing his archery, preparing for mooncalf season, which was near, a barrage of arrows fell about him in a circle. First it was just four, landing perfectly with ninety degrees between each one. More followed, and there were sixteen arrows surrounding him before he realized what was happening. He tried to squeeze in between the gaps, but they were too narrow. Ere long, he was completely surrounded by a wall of them. Now he was prisoner of whoever happened to come along.

Presently, he heard voices outside the arrow wall. "Is it Brangdon we have quartered?" The voice was rough and cruel.

"Yes, it is I," said our hero.

"Victim of Ares, Worshipper of Venus, Mr. Pygmalion, you shall be escorted to the Govercert at once."

A drill was brought forth—a primitive one that had probably known many likenesses in the late 1900's—and was used to strip apart the yew, silkwood, and frespia bark that the arrows were made of. Brangdon was released, and his antagonists were revealed to him. They were ninjas with blue uniforms. Two got on his right, two on his left. Supposing that he was being led to marry Mallinor, or at the very least discuss his predilection with her father, he went with them quietly. Had he surmised otherwise, that he was being taken to his punishment, he would've got down on the floor, supplicant, pleading with the ninjas to set him free.

They arrived at the Govercert, and the ninjas fabricated a story as they stood before the cellar door. "Your queen awaits at the bottom of these steps, as does a priest who will wed you in holy matrimony. There is just one price you must pay before descending."

He gulped. "A price?"

"Yes, you must give as your shirt."

"Gladly, if it means I shall be wed to my sweet Mallinor."

He rips off his shirt and tosses it to one of the awaiting ninjas. The leader of the gang pulls apart the cellar door, and for a second Brangdon smiles. He's about to be married! And not only that, but to a girl he loves. Then he feels three pairs of arms on his back, pushing him forward, shoving him…

For the first time in his life, Brangdon knew why they were called a "flight of steps." Seeing how hard he was thrust into the cellar, he could not regain his footing as he was flung down. Seconds before he realized his fate, he saw the nails, turned upwards. Perfectly set up for offenders of the government. He had committed treason, insubordination. Now he knew it was a foolish move to send a letter to the mayor. But, as a true lover, his only thought before he was made a corpse of was that nothing would come of Mallinor for his impudence.

The ninjas were then dispatched to explore Brangdon's abode, whereof the photograph was found. At first, no one took any notice of it, other than suspecting that Brangdon had been a wizard of some sort. However, upon closer inspection it was discovered that it was the very likeness of Mallinor, the definitive article. All of the boy's other possessions were put up for auction, but the picture was carried to the mayor's office.

"My own daughter!" Yhiberti shouted in fury. "This corroborates everything the rascal said in his letter. Mallinor and he had intended to elope in case of my objection. Call the strumpet, now!"

Mallinor was brought forth, extremely pleased to be summoned before her father's presence, which rarely happened. But when she saw his livid countenance, she shrunk back. How could he be angry at _her?_

"I know all about your plan to marry Brangdon behind my back."

"Brangdon?" she wondered, trying to recall where she heard that name before.

"Don't play innocent with me, missy. You and he contrived a plot to elope; he says you both had mutual affection for each other."

"OH," she said, laughing, which was more detrimental to her cause than not. "That was the parson."

"Parson? He said he was a country bumpkin."

"Well, he might've been, but his name sounded like that of a parson."

"You don't know what he did and you wanted to marry him?"

"What?!? Marry that loser? I'd rather drown in the Old Nile."

The mayor was taken aback. Perhaps Brangdon had lied? But he lowered his gaze, and noticed the picture on his deck. "A fine ruse, that is, my sweet. However, this proves otherwise!" he exclaimed, holding it up for her to see.

It had no effect on Mallinor, for in the hundredth century there are no mirrors, and so she had never seen herself before. But Yhiberti's action had a negative effect on himself, for in white, chalky letters was printed the date, "2 January 10,000."

"Witch! Witch!" he shouted, and the ninjas entered from outside the room. They grabbed Mallinor, and she began screaming. "Take her to the Shadow Cert! If any questions are asked, she has performed witchcraft, and we have proof."

The chief ninja saluted Yhiberti, and they exited the room. Alone, the mayor ambled over to the fireplace. "I never thought I'd have to burn a daughter of mine, the only child Zeus let me keep. But sometimes prices must be paid for justice. Mallinor, I may be your father, but I shall show no mercy!"


	2. The Aurora of Adulthood

**10,000 A.D.**

**Chapter Two**

"Venus, call your son," ordered the king of Mount Olympus.

The goddess of love drew a flute out of her pocket. She played a most glorious tune, and it bounced off the crags of Mini Olympus, a replica of the mountain that allowed Zeus to keep an eye on all the gods. When he had received it as a present from the mortal Issuidae whom he had fallen in love with, Hera turned the girl into a turkey and she was roasted for somebody's Thanksgiving dinner.

"He's coming up at the speed of light," said Hermes, watching Issuidae's gift, "dodges the titan's fire, shoots a love arrow at Poseidon's face on a dartboard, is halted by Athena in a philosophical discussion, and," the sound of fluttering wings was overhead, "he's here."

Cupid first approached his mother, but she shook her head and turned her gaze toward Zeus. Taking the hint, he approached the throne.

"Welcome. You have been summoned here because your life is about to change dramatically."

"How do you mean, good sir?" asked Cupid. He knew that politeness was a characteristic Zeus greatly admired.

"I mean that you will soon have to give up on making people fall in love."

"But that's what makes me Cupid!" the boy pouted.

"No, it is what makes you stupid. Yes, I know Psyche is intellectual enough to compensate for your lack of learning, but I don't want any illiterate deities in my kingdom."

"I can learn…"

"No, you cannot. At least, not as long as you remain a love-inducer. Dost thou not know that love dampens ambition? Do you know how many great men you caused to fall because of your aimless arrows? How many aberrations from the norm you created? As long as you remain as you are, you will be a hazard to the world. If it were not for you, we wouldn't have had to worry about the world's population exceeding ten billion in 2085. We had to cause World War III to deplete that gargantuan number, and you remember the flood of 3797? But let's not worry about events of the days of yore. The bottom of the line is, we are ridding you of this power."

"But you can't just take it away!"

"Excuse me? I am Zeus, the king of the gods, son of Cronos, and I can do as I please. However, I will be lenient. You may have one more chance to make someone fall in love. It has been a while since you've done anything to mortals, after all. But this is the last one. Use it wisely."

Cupid entreated Zeus to relent, but all his pleadings were to no avail. "You are dismissed," said the All-Mighty.

For a month, Cupid sulked. He could not believe that this would be his last shot; his last time to create false love. And it was so that he could _learn _and wouldn't harm the _geniuses _of the present era. Worse of all, Zeus had not given much account to the fact that Cupid had remained on Mount Olympus to spread his mischief among the minor gods, never bothering with mortals at all.

He was desirous of making Zeus regret his injunction against Cupid, so he observed the most prominent city. There was a boy there who showed great promise, due to a stamp on his shoulder made by a real witch at birth. This stamp was shaped like a feather, which signified that the boy was not bound to the earth and that he would soar to great heights. If Cupid had been blessed with the powers of deduction, he would've surmised that Brangdon was a son of Zeus. There was something about him that suggested he could be immortal, if only he were to follow a certain course and live to a certain age. Some instinct told him that this boy would give him the utmost satisfaction to ruin, and so he set off.

Cupid knew that he had not the power to induce Brangdon to love a common girl, or any of the women he had associated with his whole life. Only someone of a rare and unfamiliar beauty would do, and someone who could easily denigrate him. Brangdon had to feel that he was inferior for him to love a lady. This task would be difficult, but Cupid was up to the challenge.

He noticed that Mallinor, who was sixteen then, was uncommonly pretty, and that she had a nasty demeanor about her, quick to ridicule or condemn others. But Brangdon never went to the Govercert (not that he would've been allowed) and thus it was up to Cupid to contrive how to get his quarry and Yhiberti's daughter together. Recalling that he had seen her likeness somewhere, he went to the Abandoned Portraits Depot, a place where all the pictures of people that had ever been burned or destroyed were restored as good as new. He sorted through them all, going backwards from the current day (believing that the females from the near past were more likely to resemble Mallinor than those from many centuries beforehand): starting with the women of the hundredth century and proceeding to the 9800's and so forth. Several times he saw a lady that came close to meeting his needs, but he was hoping for an exact match. Further and further he went, till he arrived at the twenty-first century, when he began to have doubts of succeeding. However, when he scanned the photos of 2007, he found the perfect match, an outstanding beauty with plaited black hair.

He purchased the precious picture from Cheros, the man who ran the APD. It cost him 850,000 ducats, a real bargain, Cheros informed him. Now he had to plant it in a place that Brangdon would be likely to find it. Luckily for Cupid, the boy was naturally adventuresome, so he had a plot to set it in a barnhouse when Brangdon was old enough for exploring.

However, one day his eyes lighted on the picture, and like Pygmalion, he fell in love with the girl it portrayed. No one else deserved her, he told himself. And what mortal would not give herself up to a god? Furthermore, he had the means to make her fall in love with him. Zeus had not said he couldn't use his last arrow on a female. How lovely it would be to have the girl of his dreams!

Psyche knew his heart, and she felt betrayed. Had he not given himself to her so many years ago? If worse came to worst, she would end Mallinor's life. She had the power to create dementia in the most unsuspecting mortals—why should she not use it on a woman who had stolen her husband? All's fair in love and war.

One day, a month before Mallinor turned eighteen, Psyche gave Cupid a tonic that put him in a deep sleep. While he was in this slumber, his wife sat at the Dream Tableau, which had been delivered to them by Morpheus the past June. Whatever she wrote on this tableau would be woven into Cupid's dreams.

She wrote: "A beautiful maiden with long, plaited black hair arises from the ashes, amidst the burning city of Moscow. She calls out your name, 'Cupid,' hoping you will rescue her from Nicker, the wild, lascivious unicorn who haunts every young girl's dreams. You approach her, but her hair turns into snakes like the Gorgons, and you tell yourself not to look into her eyes. However, you can not resist, and instead of the blue wonders you used to marvel at there, now you see open slits. Peer closer. A radiance as powerful as sunlight blinds you. You fell one of the snakes in her wrap around your neck, but you cannot see it. Pulling at it, you see yourself on a beach. The sun has dimmed down. Instead of the serpent skin you thought was in your hands, you are now holding a scarf. Sitting on a beach towel, you look at the person next to you. Mallinor sits there, scintillating and sultry. You ask her if she would like you to fetch her anything. She admits that she'd like a lemonade, and you go to fetch some, but when you return, instead of your sweet, all you see is an obese woman eating bonbons. Rapidly, clouds form in the sky. You expect the rain to come down in torrents, but instead a shower of umbrellas drops down to the earth. They beat on your back like hail, and you cry in agony, wishing you were mortal. And then you reach into the ground, aimlessly, pulling out a dusty mirror. Wiping it clean, you stare into it, expecting your own reflection. But instead, all you see is Mallinor."

All the while, Cupid was moaning and groaning, and now he awoke with a start. "Oh, the horror!" he exclaimed.

"What is it dear?" Psyche queried.

"The girl—she was a Gorgon, and then a fat lady, and then I saw her reflection in the mirror!"

"What girl, Cupid? Is this a new fancy of yours?"

"Not anymore she's not," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "Promise me you'll never change."

Now Cupid was resolved to get Brangdon in love with Mallinor. He hoped to never see her again, and had to wrap the photo in a cloth so that he would not have to look at it. His target was just entering the barn when he arrived there. Quickly he placed the picture on top of some miscellaneous items in a chest, and hid himself behind a curtain.

Brangdon entered the hayloft, and innocently walked over to the chest, discovering the picture. Cupid raised his arrow to shoot, but before he was able to, the boy put the photo down and examined a tennis ball. After discarding that item, he lifted a golden bow.

_Psyche, I need your help, _Cupid called, telepathically.

An instant later, as if she were a master of the art called Apparation, Psyche was at her husband's side. They spoke not a word, but understood each other nevertheless.

She sat down, Indian-style, and prepared to search for Brangdon's mind. She thought she found it instantly, and prepared to smile up at Cupid, but it was just a mouse. Finally, focusing all her energies on the task, she managed to take control of Brangdon's desires. Yet, he was mentally more powerful than any mortal she ever encountered, and she knew not how long she could hold him. Her powers only extended to either control or communication. Thus she was unable to convey this truth to her spouse. At last, she managed to incline the boy to set down the bow, and pick up the photo again.

Cupid straightened his bow, and fired. At that moment, he was filled with misgivings, but it was too late. Brangdon was enamored. And he, the son of the goddess love, would no longer be able to do this again. If he had been literate and asked to describe himself in a word, he would've said "defunct." Life as he knew it was over.

The next morning he was called before Zeus. So many others were present as well: Apollo, Hera, Hermes, Ares, Hercules, Poseidon, even Hades and Persephone. The latter was the most beautiful present, and behind her Demeter stood, proud and strong. Pallas Athena was smiling at him. Indeed, his own mother was the only one who looked downcast.

Seeing Cupid's bewildered expression, Zeus decided it would be wise to break it to him lightly. "You don't know what you're here for, do you?"

"To please you, sir."

"No, son of Venus. This whole celebration is all for you. Today you shall finally achieve adulthood."

"Haven't I been an adult for centuries?"

"In body, yes, but never till you were able to relinquish your ability could you have become a full-fledged adult. And now we shall present you with the 'Aurora of Adulthood.'"

There was a deadly silence all about. Nobody moved, and Zeus began to be exasperated. "Where is Narcissus?"

Hermes flew timidly up to his ear. He whispered, and the throng of deities could only catch Zeus side of the conversation. "GONE! What do you mean he's gone?...I should've known better than to trust a god in love with himself…Cupid not deserving, that's a misconception, I'm sure he didn't mean—" This went on for some time, until a point when Zeus' eyes bulged. "HE DID WHAT?...Okay, calm down. We can still go through with the ceremony." The latter remark was apparently aimed at himself.

"Hera, come forward," he ordered. Not willing to disobey, the goddess heeded his desire. "We have to use the green aurora, not the orange. Do you feel up to it?"

She scowled. "Certainly, if it must be done, but I'd rather not."

"It must be done."

"Fine, then." She then summoned a dolphin by playing a three-key note on her shark's tooth necklace. "Ziphon, I need you to swallow all the seas."

"But madam, that will destroy the human race!"

"And since when have your kind ever cared about humans?"

"It will kill all of my kith and kin as well, but we were already done for, in this late day and age. However, humans need to keep striving, keep persevering toward a goal. Their time on Earth is not done yet. But if you deprive them of water…"

"Zeus says it is necessary."

"Oh, by all means, if the king of the gods declares that mankind should perish in a body, then it will happen. Only, I request that he will kindly create a thunderstorm, so that people will kindly attribute their loss of water to him."

"Do you concur, Zeus?"

Not usually inclined to be agreeable, the All-Mighty decided there was no harm in playing with lightning on this occasion.

So the dolphin was sent down to Earth, and he began to drink the Black Sea. He did not want to drink. But as soon as his lips touched the water, he became thirsty, and he knew that no amount could satiate this drive. After this, he moved on to the Caspian, the Mediterranean, the Persian Gulf, and many others. He drunk them dry, watching all his friends die, as well as those fish that were naturally a dolphin's enemy. Moving on to the Indian Ocean, then the Artic, Atlantic, and Pacific, he lapped it up as quickly as he could. Yet, once all these prominent bodies had been depleted, he was not satisfied. Rivers and lakes followed in his diet, and not only fish died, but so did those few birds still extant who thrived on the flesh of trout, salmon, and other piscatorial delicacies.

Once he had delivered the Earth of its entire water supply, he returned to Mount Olympus.

"Thank you, Ziphon," Hera said. "Now we must call forth the best of weavers," causing Athena's spine to run with a chill of exhilaration, "Arachne."

"Arachne? But she's a spider!"

"All the more reason to congratulate her on her superior weaving ability. And now we are in need of it."

So the spider was summoned, with her eight spindly legs. Persephone cringed with repulsion; her mother may be the goddess of nature, and he husband the lord of the Underworld, but she had a natural revulsion for any critter that was not a biped or a quadruped.

"Arachne, I need you to weave a web around Ziphon." But the spider moved not a millimeter. Hera laughed. "Oh, excuse my presumption. You don't even know who Ziphon is, do you? Well, I will keep you in ignorance no longer, for he is the dolphin."

At this announcement, Arachne moved with uncommon pleasure, covering Ziphon in silk with a rapidity rarely ever seen in creatures of her ilk. For over eleven thousand years, the gods had never called her for anything. She had lived a solitary life, a legend among her species. She was dubbed "The Spider who Never Died," for, though she had been mortal when she contested Athena in their famous sewing competition, she had gained eternal life when that wisest of goddesses made her an arachnid.

Presently, the dolphin found himself encased entirely in a web. He could not struggle free, if he wanted to. "Now, Ares," said Hera, "bring forth the Gubraithian fire."

The god of war grudgingly stepped forward, and snatched a burning branch from a pouch on his belt. "Why must I do this?" he asked, handing it over.

"Because the boy must become an adult."

"More wars were fought over love than any other cause," Ares said, though this may be a slight exaggeration.

"Ares, it is time you stopped worrying about wars, especially since the human race is nearly at the end of its tenure."

He knew this was true, but he did not feel any better. (This last interchange between Ares and Hera was made in whispers, and there were no auditors but themselves.)

The Gubraithian fire was placed near the web, and it shot up Arachne's latest masterpiece. It consumed not only the flawless silk, but the quenched dolphin, who now felt fit to burst. Then Hera took out a green dye, pouring it over the flames. In almost no time, a halo appeared, giving off shimmering emerald light. She grabbed this gem, blew on it, and then presented it to Cupid, who bowed down as if he were going to be knighted.

"I now pronounce you an adult."

Cheers rang all about. This was a crowning moment in their existence—the day Cupid left childhood and emerged as a god, ready to rule his own dominion in Zeus' kingdom. Some deities, including Hades, failed to understand how Cupid being able to read would make Mount Olympus a better place. Still, when Zeus wanted something done, no questions were asked.

Three days later, Cupid woke up in a fury. How could Zeus do this to him? His reading lessons were backbreaking, and he had been told not to eat ambrosia for a week. It was no wonder he found himself in a bad temper. He had also yelled at Psyche the night before, and they had not had any altercations in so many centuries. He wanted to scream. Some scientist in history had declared this activity to be very therapeutic.

Instead, he made an effigy of Zeus. That evening he would burn it and laugh till tears fell from his eyes. Never mind the consequences; besides, what were the chances that Zeus would ever find out. He would be sure to conceal his action in such a desolate place that no deity would be able to spy on him.

At the same time that Brangdon was feasting his eyes on Mallinor, Cupid was lighting a match in a small cavern near the bottom of the mountain. "You shall pay for all your transgressions," he told the effigy, smiling wickedly.

It happens that Zeus was observing Mini Olympus at this time, not out of mistrust but from mere curiosity. He noticed nothing at first; everybody seemed to be at their normal posts—everybody except Poseidon, who had still not returned from his foray with the original Aurora of Adulthood.

But it did not take Zeus' eye long to perceive that a villainous act against his person was occurring in his domain. Rage filled his veins, as he watched himself being put to ashes under Cupid's care. "HERMES!" he thundered.

The messenger god approached him timidly.

"I cannot wait any longer! I'm going to send the Green Gnome to steal that aurora and finish off Cupid for good!"

"The consequences are too high, my liege. You must wait until Brangdon dies, otherwise you'll destroy Mount Olympus."

"And when will my son take his leave of this world?"

"In about a month."

For a moment Zeus was silent, his brow furrowed. Then a thought came to him. "But didn't the dolphin Ziphon drain the world of all its water, making it impossible for humankind to survive?"

"Yes, he did. And as we speak, myriad peoples across the world are dying from thirst. However, the city of Kiast—where Brangdon lives—is surrounded by oases, and there is a spring in the very center. Even if Ziphon had been able to drink this water, it has an unlimited supply. He would still be drinking yet."

"Curse that city and all its water! Cupid's defiance should not be tolerated much longer! Look there; he burns my head in effigy," Zeus said, pointing to the representation on Mini Olympus.

"Be patient, and your revenge will shortly be won," said the wise Hermes.

The king of the gods heeded this advice, and a grueling month ensued. Cupid was slow at learning, and after a fortnight he was barely able to read a book on the level of "Green Eggs and Ham." Meanwhile, people around the world had kicked the bucket, and only the citizens of Kiast survived. Many areas of commerce were ceased, for, like all intelligent civilizations, the people of the hundredth century knew that specialization of labor was the only way to get things done. Certain commodities, such as cotton, had to be foregone. The mayor sagaciously decided not to inform his citizens of this catastrophe, for they could find some way of blaming _him _for it.

But the day came when Brangdon was thrown down into the cellar, and perished. A day and a half passed before the ninjas were permitted to descend and fetch the body, presenting it to the mayor. Then Zeus knew he could take his vengeance on Cupid.

He summoned the Green Gnome from the Hall of Miscellaneous Beings. This gnome was best friends with Killsfrons, the dragon who struck fear into the hearts of mortals.

"My friend, I have a task for you."

"As long as it causes pain and injury to a party, I shall obey. But if it is in principle virtuous, I am obliged to decline."

"It is one of the former sort," said the king of the gods. He then directed the gnome to his design, that is to say, the artifice of stealing the aurora which lately crowned Cupid's crest.

With nimble fingers the greedy creature deprived Venus' son of this noble object. But, scarcely had he done so, that the years Cupid had lived began to recede. It was like watching a five-minute film of a person aging, only going backwards. While enveloped by Psyche's arms, he was transformed from a man, to a surly teenager, to a child of ten, and finally, to infancy, of which condition most Renaissance painters chose to portray him. After witnessing this harrowing transformation, the green goblin took his exit, smiling maliciously.

When Psyche awoke, she was alarmed to discover that a baby was in her arms. Could it be that the gods had granted her a child at last? Perhaps the stork Oberon had come in the middle of the night. She looked tenderly at it; he seemed to have Cupid's eyes. How wonderful it would be to see him grow up and thrive among the other gods and goddesses! This was a cause for celebration! There should be trumpets blaring and drums beating. No deities had had any children in centuries, and if this was the first…

She was going to call him Twinge. Where this name came from, she knew not. It just entered her mind out of the blue. And so she dubbed him, and for three weeks they lived in harmony.

It was not the manner of the gods to visit Cupid and Psyche's home regularly; indeed, so few of them liked Venus' son that they would rather eschew him, and his wife was no better. But after a long interval of not seeing her husband, she rang an ancient bell, which compelled Hermes to come visit her.

He knocked very lightly, hoping beyond hope that she would not hear, but her ears were supersonically enhanced at that moment, because she was concentrating all her powers on listening.

"Where is Cupid?" she asked, when she opened the door.

"No one's seen him for weeks," the messenger god said, discreetly.

"But that's impossible! He hasn't been here, either. Where could he have...?"

But her astute mind was already working its gears. "The baby! Oh, I thought…"

"Yes, you thought it was a gift from Zeus. Actually, it was punishment."

"But what did my husband do?"

"He used his last arrow on Zeus' son, Brangdon."

"It must've been some mistake."

"Believe me, if Cupid had known he wouldn't have shot him."

"But he had to! He was in love with the girl, Mallinor; he relished her picture and slept with it under his pillow."

"You mean that Cupid was in love with the mayor's daughter? No, no.." he said, looking worried. "This is bad. The entire fate of the world hangs in the balance."

"What is it?"

At first, Hermes was not inclined to answer. But, slowly he managed to find his voice. "The curse of the gods."

"That's it? Have you nothing more to say?"

"This is the end of Mount Olympus. Psyche, an evil has been unleashed. The city of Kiast is going to go to war with us. We, representing the only abode of the immortals, and they the only abode of the mortals. Hundreds of years ago, a prophecy was made, though no one knows the outcome. What was predicted was that mankind would be reduced to one town, through Zeus' recklessness, and that his raging temper is to result in the entire reversal of one of the gods."

"Entire reversal? What do you mean by that?"

"That the god in question would stand for something that is opposite his nature. For example, Ares supporting peace, or Hades becoming a cruel, lustful deity as he was portrayed in a pathetic Disney adaption in 1997. Or, in the case of Cupid—"

"He would spread hatred through his arrows, instead of love."

Hermes nodded solemnly.

"Well, thankfully he's a baby who has not yet realized his sensory powers. It'll be a while yet before he realizes he's a god."

"Actually, his knowledge of who he is should be rebuilding itself as we speak."

"No, no it isn't!" Psyche insisted. She turned to watch the baby in his crib, but he was no longer there. "Twinge—I mean, Cupid! Where has he gone?"

"Behind you," Hermes said, unsmilingly.

Cupid came around, still an infant, and was carrying a bag with a bow and arrows. He grinned at his wife, or mother as the case may appear.

"Get back here, you!" Psyche called, but Cupid flew out the window. He descended to Earth, but he searched for hours without finding anybody, and that was moving at the speed of light. At last he discovered the city of Kiast. A plethora of people just waiting to be shot! Oh, what joy! He put his bow in place to act a sniper and aim at random pedestrians. However, a gong was sounded, and Cupid, being naturally curious, attempted to locate the source of this noise.

Following it, he saw a beautiful maiden, the bride of an upcoming wedding. Cupid could not understand language yet, otherwise he would have known that the celebration was to be the next day. Ignorant of this fact or not, he had no qualms about shooting this lovely damsel, whom even in his babyhood he could acknowledge was charming.

His arrow hit her square in the heart, and a green fury was seen in her eyes for an instant. But Cupid was too tired and young to understand this passion, and he returned to Mount Olympus and the home of his mother/wife. The girl though, was wondering why she was being forced to marry a man whom she loathed.

The ceremony commenced normally, and appeared to be a typical wedding…well, as typical as it can get when a commoner girl marries a prince. Hock II was visiting from C. Detroit, a city in the Biseru Plains in what used to be the Northwest United States. He fell in love with Arrana instantly, and she had likewise shown affection for him. Their engagement was set for six months after their initial meeting. On their honeymoon, they would go to his town and enjoy several blissful evenings together before she was forced to undergo the trials of getting a princess education.

"Do you, Arrana, accept this man to be your awful wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, till death do you part?"

"I DON'T!" she shouted, to the immense surprise of the audience.

The minister and her bridegroom were sweating. "I know you must be having apprehensions," whispered the latter. "But they'll pass."

"These are not apprehensions!" she continued, at a volume which even Old Granny Watersfield, who was practically death, could pick up. "I hate you and all your insipidity! Wish I were dead rather than married to you of all people!" Then she lifted up her skirt, and started to run away.

"She doesn't know her own mind!" Hock II exclaimed. "I swear that she was kissing me with a passion two days ago. Seize her!"

But there was no girl to grab in the streets. All they saw was a pigeon, preening itself for a meeting with its mate. Arrana had disappeared.


End file.
